


when i am king

by yandereraiden



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, for $8000 a month i will stop supplementing darius' lore with weird introspective bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yandereraiden/pseuds/yandereraiden
Summary: In his dreams, Draven was always at his side.





	when i am king

**Author's Note:**

> im tired of finals work i just wanted to do something not finals work

In his moments of weakness, Darius dreamed of power.

 

Loyal to Swain’s vision of Noxus as he was, he would never sit upon the throne himself. He didn’t have any real interest in the weight of responsibility it carried- his place was as a soldier, a commander, a man who’s greatest worth was in how many enemies he could cut down, how many heads he could collect for his country. Better at leading an army than a nation, more skilled at drawing blood than tax policy. Should his leadership ever show signs of being weak or not acting in Noxus’ best interest, he would happily depose them- but he would never take their place.

 

Still, sometimes he imagined what it might be like. The Grand General’s chair was a ghastly, uncomfortable seat, carved out of black marble, designed for something even larger than the largest of men. Darius had often wondered why his Noxian progenitors had chosen to build it like that, and he’d understood, in a way, when he’d finally seen Swain sit upon it- as huge as it was around the small, thin man, Swain’s very presence seemed apt to fill it.

 

Darius sometimes thought he might fit the seat even better. He’d sit on the hard, unforgiving stone, and be just as hard and unforgiving. He’d rule his nation with an iron fist- he’d rout the enemies of Noxus, and expand its borders farther than the likes of Jericho Swain had ever dreamed was possible. He’d push, conquer until there was nothing left  _ to _ conquer, until the whole world was kneeling at his feet.

 

In his dreams, Draven was always at his side. Sometimes Darius longed for their days in the army together, as commander and attack dog, but he knew in his heart that just as he belonged at the head of a battalion, his brother belonged in front of a crowd. The way Draven sliced through those before him was flashy, thoroughly gimmicky, and gorgeous in its brutality. 

 

He wanted to put on a show? Darius would give him the biggest audience on Runeterra. That would satisfy his ego, certainly, and the fear he would inspire in the hordes of faceless cowards would keep them tame and submissive- exactly where  _ they _ belonged.

 

Despite the attention of both his fans and those watching him with terror and fury, in his dreams, Draven was  _ his.  _ Darius felt a stab of possessiveness just thinking about it, about the crowds that would watch Draven and think that because he performed for them, they had a  _ right  _ to him. As if any other person alive could handle him. He was- he  _ should  _ have been Darius’, in every possible way. Darius’ prized weapon, to conquer with, to rule with. 

 

He wanted Draven’s skills, his unmatched bloodthirst, his fearlessness in battle, and he wanted every inch of his strong, skillful body. The people could watch him sink his axes into a traitor’s skull all they pleased, but they would never know what it felt like to touch him like Darius longed to. They would never know what it was like to kiss him, to feel the hard lines of muscle melt in relief under their hands and mouths. They would never know what he sounded like when he moaned, how his face looked when he came. 

 

Darius wanted his brother in ways that people would say were sick. People were  _ weak, _ stupid, ignorant sheep that needed to be shown their place. In his world, the only thing truly worthy of respect would be strength, and as the only one strong enough to tame Draven, he was the only one strong enough to deserve him. Darius wanted his brother in his lap. At his feet. Bent over the unflinching marble arm of the great throne, taking his Grand General’s cock like he was  _ meant _ to. Possession of power and possession of his brother were nearly synonymous in his mind, and Darius was unsure which his fantasies tended towards more. 

 

But just like a dream, both possibilities flickered out when he woke, passing visions that he put to the side, not wanting to travel the dark path a lust for power would surely lead him down. He ignored them- except for the few occasions when he entered the throne room and saw the great chair, and allowed himself for a moment to imagine sitting upon it, resplendent and unyielding, his terrifying, beautiful brother a patiently waiting weapon next to him, just waiting to be unleashed.


End file.
